Relay Column: A Feeling of Magnificence (Hikari Osanai)

Carrying two or three heavy plastic bags from the supermarket in front of the station, I enter the entrance and, after placing my bags on the floor, proceed to take off all my clothes. I shower with those feet before finally stepping into my room. A tiny 5-tatami mat room that is completely filled with a bed, a bookshelf, and a clothing rack. I wipe my smartphone with an alcohol wet wipe, clean the doorknob, wipe down the package of natto I bought, dispose of it in a bag, seal it, and put it back out at the entrance.

Even as I write this, I can't believe I was doing that voluntarily. I am inherently a very easygoing person when it comes to hygiene. The invisible virus spreading somewhere in this vicinity, along with the discomfort of living alone after a long time, became a significant anxiety that took residence in my heart, leading me to try to eliminate it through every conceivable action, even doubting my own skin and breath.

Having quit my job, I hastily decided on a one-room apartment a ten-minute walk from Asagaya Station, which I originally intended to be a temporary residence. I thought any place would be fine since I would only be returning to sleep, so I chose a cheap apartment without key money or deposit near my favorite gelato shop without much inspection. I began to regret this move a little, thinking it shouldn't have been like this. In a room where there was nowhere to sit except on the bed, I can confidently say the spring of 2020, which arrived without anything in particular to do, was a very special time in my life.